


Fancy Dress

by Violetwylde



Series: Martin RPF [3]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Halloween, Quick and Dirty, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 21:56:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17516573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetwylde/pseuds/Violetwylde
Summary: A quick little Halloween ficlet based on this prompt:Martin isn’t big into Halloween. But, when you come home and ask if he’ll join you at your friend’s party, he doesn’t say no. He decides he’ll wear a costume if you wear one. The night of the party, he waits for you at the bottom of the stairs. When you come down, his jaw drops. You’re wearing a short- almost too short- dress with your hair curled so you look like an old movie star. It’s not five seconds before Martin has you against the wall, lips on your neck, saying you might be late.





	Fancy Dress

“A bit Audrey Hepburn,” Martin says, looking up at you from the bottom of the stairs. “If Audrey Hepburn was a tart.”

You stop on the landing and strike a pose, one gloved hand on your hip, the other guiding the end of a long cigarette holder to your lips. Your black, satin dress clings to your curves, the bottom hem hitting high on your thigh. It’s skimpy, sure, but it’s also Halloween.

Below you, Martin leans on the banister with a air of James Dean—silver-blond hair combed back and a cigarette tucked behind one ear; tight, dark denims and a white button up open at the throat.

He watches as you sashay down the stairs, heat and hunger blooming in his eyes. You offer him a coy little smile as you walk passed, and he grabs you by the waist, spinning you around to face him. He crowds into you, prowling forward until you hit the wall with a gasp.

He’s everywhere all at once—hands on your hips, nose under your jaw, lips on your throat. The cigarette holder clatters to the ground as you reach around to slide your hands up and down his back. You grab his ass and grind him into you, feel the bulge of his cock rub against your thigh.

“Fuck,” he groans, moist lips catching on your heated skin. “I think we might be late.”

You slip your hands around to his front, fumble at his button and fly. “I don’t mind.”

It’s the work of a only a few, frenzied seconds for your panties to pool on the floor and his jeans to be pushed down his thighs. You wrap your legs around his waist, and sink down on his thick, leaking cock. He presses you roughly against the wall and thrusts hard—firm shoves of his hips that make you both grunt and moan.

There’s something so hedonistic about the texture of the wall against the back, the brush of his shirt tails along your legs. It sets your pleasure spiraling, knowing that he had to have you right here, right now. You drop your head back, panting and cursing, as you roll your hips in time with his hammering thrusts. He takes advantage, setting his mouth to your neck—sucking and biting. Ravenous.

You slip your hands into his hair and tug him back. He lets go with a growl and finds your mouth instead. His lips are soft and his tongue is insistent, kissing you with a covetous ardor that makes your whimper.

He breaks away, smearing his mouth along your cheek and he groans, “Fuck. _Fuck_. You feel so good.”

“Yeah…” You squeeze your legs aroud his waist even tighter. “Fuck me. Harder. Harder. Come on.”

He grabs you by your hips and pulls you down onto his prick, thrusts into you with a brutal pace. It’s bone-jarring and exquisite. You curl your fingers, the satin gloves keeping your nails from from digging into the nape of his neck. You’re right there, his fat cock pushing into you deep and fast. So close. So. Close.

“Yes!” You cry out as your pleasure peaks and crashes over you. “Yes! Fu—”

He kisses you again, muffling your cries. His rhythm stutters—hips kicking forward, pausing, and pulling back—two, three, four times. Then one more thrust, burying himself to the hilt. He moans into your mouth and you can feel his cock throbbing as he comes.

He presses his forehead against yours, sighs low and contented. It’s a drastic change from the fervency of the last few minutes. It makes you smile—soft and sated—and you comb your fingers through his hair, trying to bring it back into some semblance of order.

He slips out of you, tucks himself away in his tight jeans. “Happy Halloween.”

You put your feet back on the ground and feel the warm trickle of his come sliding down your thigh. You pick up your panties off the floor and use them to wipe yourself clean, then toss them to the floor. Guess you’ll just have to go the rest of the night without.

You give him a Cheshire grin and head for the door. “Happy Halloween.”


End file.
